Page 35 of Problematic Summer Romance

“What your roommate and your ex did is so abominable and devoid of decency, if your friend had found out with you, she would have helped you sharpen every knife in the kitchen.”

I laugh. And tear up a little. And yawn. “I just…I kinda thought maybe Alfie was the one?”

“Based on what?”

“He…He’s funny, especially when he’s drunk. And he left me space—I need a lot of space, sometimes. And he held me when I wanted to be snuggled.”

“All of these things you listed, a dog could do.” A brief hesitation. Then he continues. “He may have been one of the ones, but he wasn’ttheone. You’re young, and more beautiful than you yet realize, and you’ll be the smartest person in most of the rooms you’ll enter throughout your life. You’re better off without some guy who just asked me for pointers on how to break into the crypto space.”

“Ugh. He’s so obsessed with that.” I bury my face in the pillow. “I shouldn’t have let his cuteness blind me.”

“Cuteness? He looks like he was drawn by my right hand.”

I laugh into the memory foam, the taste of damp linens in my mouth. And just as I’m about to ask Conor whether he’s a lefty, I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

6 days before thewedding

Chapter 12

Present day

Taormina, Italy

Sicily is not quiet. And yet, despite a handful of overactive, raucous gulls right outside my window, the droning buzz of cicadas, and the rhythmic wash of the waves along the shore, I don’t wake until midmorning.

I throw open the heavy silk curtains and tiptoe out on the balcony, not fully convinced of the solidity of nineteenth-century Italian engineering. Watch the sea shimmer, lazy, quiet. Down below, Lucrezia chats with other staff, sweeps the patio, gestures for the furniture to be rearranged; yells at a trio of teenage-looking boys who are taking a cigarette break on the steps of the gazebo.

The sun is already high, bathing the sand, the grass, the cobblestone paths in golden beams that have me itching to go explore. Back home, in Texas, the light is white-hot and relentless, and I domy best to avoid being outside. The heat here, though, feels qualitatively different. Drier, more ancient, punctuated by oleander-scented breeze and blocky stone walls that keep the inside of my room just cool enough, even without AC.

In the garden, no evidence remains of last night’s ravagement. I try to picture Jade’s reaction upon hearing that Mr. Axel McHockeyman, the most famous person we know, poisoned the entire wedding party, and chuckle to myself. I hope someone took pictures. Her birthday’s coming up, and a scrapbook of what happened would make for an excellent gift.

I get dressed quickly, cutoffs and a tank top, and go look for coffee, making a few stops on the way.

“I think I can sue him,” is the first thing Nyota tells me after opening her door. Even in a mysteriously stainedHot Girls LitigateT-shirt, she looks like a million bucks. “At the very least, I can murder him without doing any jail time. No one would convict. Jury nullification. It’s on Wikipedia, look it up.”

I bite back a smile. “Do you need anything?”

“Like what? His severed balls stuffed in the mouth hole of his severed head? On a platinum platter?” She sounds hopeful.

“I was thinking more like a glass of water, but—”

She slams the door in my face.

Rue isn’t doing much better, at least judging by the way her usually straight spine seems to coil around the doorjamb. “I feel stupid, being a food scientist,” she says, low voice raspier than usual. “I assumed that no bacteria would survive such a high-ethanol environment, but the alcohol content of limoncello-type drinks typically ranges from twenty-five to thirty-five percent, and anything less than fifty would leave a sizable margin of error. Themain issue is the biofilm thatStaph aureuscan form. You know which ones, right?”

She looks so serious, I want to hug her. “Can’t say I do.”

“Bacteria aggregate around the surface of a cell, and—”

“Babe,” Eli says, pulling her backward and into himself. They both look greenish, and about two decades older than last night. I hope the wedding makeup artist is a good one. “Let’s go to sleep, okay?” He coaxes her back inside the room. Tiny, who would never leave Eli and Rue in this time of dire need, disappears after them.

Minami, wearing the pajamas with her baby’s face plastered all over that I gave her as a present last winter, reassures me that she won’t need childcare for the day. “Kaede and I will have some loud fun right next to where Daddy is passed out. Won’t we?”

I consider sliding anI LUV PHILLY FLYERSnote under Axel’s door, but it seems like too much work, so I head downstairs.

The spread Lucrezia prepared in the dining room pulls a gasp from me: a pristine white linen cloth, various wicker baskets lined in gingham fabric and full of fresh bread, croissants, and brioche, glass jars of jam and honey, little pots of yellow butter. There are several ceramic vases, brimming with bright pink, magenta, and white bougainvillea. It looks so rustic and picture-perfect, I briefly wonder if I stumbled on the set of a high-fiber breakfast cereal commercial.

But Conor’s presence drains the vibes of any idyll. He sits alone at the head of the long table, chin resting on one hand, two fingers thoughtfully brushing his lips. He glares at his open laptop like he’s a hairbreadth from Venmoing someone to have it murdered.

---